Gun Street Girl by Adrian McKinty Page A

smoke and a mug of bergamot tea on his desk gave the room a very pleasant odor.
    He looked up at me. “Sean?”
    â€œCrabbie, has anyone been asking about me?” I wondered.
    â€œAbout you?”
    â€œAye.”
    â€œAsking what?”
    â€œQuestions.”
    â€œNot to me. Why, what’s going on?”
    â€œI don’t know. A couple of oblique references from the new Chief Inspector.”
    â€œYou’re not in trouble with the anti-corruption unit, are you?”
    I gave him a hard look. “No, why would I be?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t.”
    I leaned closer. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, Crabbie?”
    â€œOf course. But you’re not in trouble.”
    â€œAye,” I said dubiously.
    â€œSean, come on, you’re untouchable with your record.”
    â€œOK, mate. Look, I can see I’m keeping you from your work, I’ll let you get back to it,” I said, and didn’t move.
    A half-smile crept on to his face. “You’re bored, aren’t you? That’s what it is.”
    â€œNot I.”
    â€œYou want a piece of this Kelly case, don’t you?”
    â€œI am not going to interfere.”
    â€œLook, nothing’s going to break until someone pulls in the son. And since they haven’t, it probably means that he’s already slipped across the water—”
    â€œHave you alerted—”
    â€œYes, yes, but that’s not what I was driving at. I have to type this up, so if you want to do me a favor you could take Lawson and Fletcher down to the crime scene.”
    â€œYou think they’ll be able to help find something?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSo why bring them?”
    â€œIt’s our, er, pedagogical duty if nothing else. And you never know, you might come up with something.”
    â€œYou’re taking pity on me, aren’t you?”
    He grinned. “A little.”
    â€œI appreciate the thought, but I can’t do it, mate. I have a thing at six o’clock. I have to go home and shower.”
    â€œWhat thing?”
    â€œA personal thing.”
    He gave me a slant-eyed, suspicious look.
    Anybody else would have said, “What? You? A date with a real live woman?” but not the Crabman.
    â€œAll right, see you tomorrow,” he said.
    â€œOk . . . and listen, mate, if anyone starts asking questions about me, you lemme know, OK?”
    â€œI wouldn’t worry about it, Sean, everybody knows you’re a company man now through and through.”
    â€œYeah.”

5: A SUPPOSEDLY FUN THING THAT I’LL NEVER DO AGAIN
    Home. The music on the turntable was classic Zep, and I let the plagiarizing bastards take me through a shower and a shave. I tied my tie, brushed my hair. More grey now on the ears and one or two little strands in the middle too. Yeah, in contrast to our fair-faced, behatted Chief Inspector, the smokes and the stress made me look every inch of thirty-five, but still, I was a reasonably presentable wee mucker who had a steady job and owned his house and his car, which presumably counted for something, right?
    I put on a wool raincoat and then rummaged in the cloakroom for the fedora my parents had got me for Christmas. I checked my reflection in the hall mirror.
    I looked ridiculous. I lost the hat. I still didn’t look like me, but that was probably a good thing.
    I went outside. A filthy-looking cloud hanging over Belfast like an evil djinn. The first raindrops.
    I checked under the BMW for bombs and got inside.
    I drove down Coronation Road, past a gaggle of sodden children and an emaciated horse being ridden by Dominic Mulvenna, the malevolent, demon child from the last house on the street.
    The rain had become a biblical scourge.
    On Kennedy Drive the surface was liquid and I slowed to a crawl. Frogs and even small fish were spilling out from the Mill Stream on to the road. The wipers on the BMW were going max but I could still